When the Tripods Came by John Christopher Read Free Book Online Page B

with us. I liked him well enough, but the thought of having him twenty-four hours a day, sharing a room, didn’t make me jump for joy.
    That evening he got to bed first and was reading a book. That suited me, but when I got back from the bathroom, he put the book down.
    “It’s raining,” he said. “And blowing up a storm. I wonder where Miranda is.”
    Even though I called Ilse by her name, it seemed wrong, his saying Miranda. After all, she was his real mother, not his stepmother. I’d never been able to work out how he really felt about her. He could talk about her weird ideas—like painting all the ceilings black—in a faintly amused way, as though she were a character in a play. At the same time, when she wasn’t storming at him, he was affectionate in a way I couldn’t be to anyone, let alone Use. He was always hugging her.
    I said lamely, “She’ll be all right.”
    “It’s funny.” He lay looking at the ceiling. “When she’s gone off somewhere before, there’ve been times I hoped she wouldn’t come back.”
    He spoke in his usual calm way. This time I didn’t know what to say, and didn’t try.
    After a while he went on, “Of course, she’d gone those times because she wanted to. I didn’t have toworry, because she was doing her own thing. I don’t feel she is now.” He paused. “I’ve been wondering if I ought to go and look for her, like your uncle with Nathanael.”
    I said, “You’d never find her, and if you did, what good would it do? Angela was little enough to be dragged back, and we had Dr. Monmouth round the corner. What could you do against a mob of Trippies?”
    He nodded. “Not much, I suppose. But she’s part of it at this moment. It’s happening to her. All the mad things she did . . . And now . . . can she do anything except wave a banner and hail the Tripod?”
    “It doesn’t mean she’s unhappy. Angela wasn’t.” I wouldn’t have called it happy, either, but I didn’t say that.
    Andy looked at me. “What if it were Ilse?”
    I thought about it and was aware of different feelings which I couldn’t sort out. I could imagine how Pa would feel, though.
    I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
    Andy said, “I don’t know, either. I just wish I could work out what it’s supposed to be for . We know now that it’s definitely linked with the Tripods, and that the people who thought up the TV show were among the first Trippies. Whatever sent the Tripods obviously monitored our television, worked out which was the most effective production center, and somehow beamed hypnotic directives into it. But what’s their motivation?”
    “One theory is that they come from a swampplanet,” I said, “because the only sensible reason for Tripods would be to cross marshland.”
    “So what sort of creature are they—intelligent giant frogs, or newts? Pigs, maybe; the pig’s a swamp animal. No one knows. Maybe no one ever will. And no one has the faintest idea how their minds work. We saw what the first Tripod did to the farmhouse. This second lot seem to be doing nothing except hypnotizing people into liking them. Could that be it? They just want to be liked?”
    “They’re not winning as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, Pa’s right. Hypnosis doesn’t last. They’ll start drifting back soon.”
    I punched my pillow and settled down. Andy was silent, and I wondered if he was still brooding about Miranda. I started thinking about Ilse and his question about how I’d feel if it had been her. But I didn’t like the thoughts that came into my head, so I shut them out.
    • • •
    Next day was Saturday. Pa was off selling another house. People had to live somewhere, he said, Tripods or no Tripods. Martha had driven in to the shop and taken Angela. And Andy had cycled home to pick up clothes he’d forgotten the previous day.
    I wandered down the garden, which had fruit trees at the bottom. Most of the apples had been picked, but there was one old tree which still